Scarlet Rain
by Golden-Dragon-1993
Summary: A tear dripped down Alicia Spinnet’s tan cheek. When you've hit a rough time in your life and you don't know where to go, what do you do? You play Quidditch.
1. The Emerald Ink

1A tear dripped down Alicia Spinnet's tan cheek. From its origin in her pale gray eye, it cascaded over a dark brown lash before sliding down the side of her nose and coming to rest upon her upper lip. It lingered there for a moment, then dropped onto the crisp chiffon of her jet-black dress robes.

She pulled a crumpled tissue from the pack in her trembling hand. Disposing of another readily forming tear, she squeezed the soft tissue in her palm. Its soothing touch reminded her only of her father.

He had always been the one to dry her tears, the one to comfort her, to drown her sorrows. She had depended on his guidance throughout her childhood years, but later had turned her need for leadership into a necessity fo support. He had readily given it, and had never left her needing anything more than what she had. Someone to laugh with. A Quidditch cheering section. A shoulder to lean on. A most beloved friend.

He was by her side the day she took her first trembling steps onto platform nine and three-quarters. He had exclaimed with joy the day she had gotten her Hogwarts letter, encasing her in one of his signature bear-hugs. He had taken her to Diagon Alley, delighted with her sheer amazement of what lay all around her. He had bought her a broom the day he heard she made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had been there with her at St. Mungo's the time Marcus Flint's cauldron had exploded, showering her in its foul contents and temporarily blinding her. He was everything her mother wasn't and wouldn't try to be. He was a part of her.

Then, in the span of two tragic days, all the comforts she had known had been taken away from her. She found little solace in her mother, so detached from her daughter that she regularly forgot what house Alicia had been sorted into.

It was a bitter pain. The magnitude of his death had cut through her heart like a hot knife through soft butter. It seemed there could be no hope of assuaging the brutal agony of so strong a bond ripped away.

It had been less than a week since he had left her. Less than a week had she been in this state of emotional anguish, each day a torment to her sanity. Countless hours had been spent locked away in her room, staring at the cold, unfeeling wall. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, and nothing could tear her mind away from the black cavern of his death. Night after night, she had thought about him. His final moments. His life dedicated to so noble a task.

No one knew who had killed him. There were plenty of suspects, ranging from former Death Eaters to other Ministry workers, but so far no conviction had been reached. Each night in her dreams, a man devoid of facial features would approach her father. She could see it as clearly as though she had been there. The fabled flash of brilliant green light and her father, his eyes frozen open like a wax dummy. Though the killer of her nightmares had no face, there was something keen and penetrating about him, inspiring a macabre aura to his undistinguished appearance.

More than once during her state of mourning had Alicia considered running away, or even taking her own life. Her nondescript grief filled her with guilt, but her heartache was wreaking havoc with her already decrepit conscience. She wanted to sob for her father. She wanted to let loose a deluge of tears for the best friend she would never see again, but her withering exterior remained hard and cold. Not a tear had fallen until the funeral, when fond anecdotes flowed from the lips of all those he had been close to. Yet not her own.

She had been urged to get up and speak; reminisce upon his connection to her, but everything held her back. She had sat silently, stolidly, until the minister's droning was over, never removing her eyes from the beautiful vase of flowers on the table before her.

Story after story was told of his warmth, his kindness, his compassion, and everything that made him who he truly was. It was not until then that the tears began to flow. First one, then another until a silent cascade of droplets was running down her face.

If it were not for the letters, she mightn't have survived the week that followed the horrific event.

The first two arrived the day after he died. One was sloppily written in a small, curvy hand, the other as neat as the hand of a practiced calligrapher, its thick flowing script perfectly straight on the bumpy parchment.

The former offered only brief condolences and promises of further letters, yet it was every bit as heartfelt as Alicia could have expected. It was from Angelina Johnson. Angelina had been one of Alicia's most cherished friends from her first day at Hogwarts all those years ago. Angelina had never possessed much of a talent for writing or schoolwork, yet her point always came across in the few words she chose to express herself. Despite her minimalistic approach to communication on paper, she was as multiloquent a person as could be found inside the walls of Hogwarts. Somewhat prone to conflict, simple accusations toward any party would often become lofty, swirling speeches, detailing all the faults of her opposition. Many a person wondered how she had become such a practiced orator upon any subject of disagreement, but Alicia had known since the end of her first year where it had come from.

Angelina and her father, a muggle, had never seen eye-to-eye on any subject. She could never be prevailed upon to take her classes as seriously as he liked, and he could never be prevailed upon to accept the fact that she cared more about Quidditch than she did about receiving a good education. While having never witnessed any such altercation, Alicia had listened patiently to Angelina's rants each time a letter arrived about a failed exam. It was not until Angelina failed her Charms O.W.L. and her Divination O.W.L. that the constant dispute had grown into a full-fledged dissension.

During their sixth year, howlers had become a monthly occurrence, so much so that no one was disturbed as Mr. Johnson's voice filled the great hall in rage. It was known by all that Angelina didn't have much of an aptitude for schoolwork, but she was one of the crowning jewels of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and as long as she kept her grades high enough to play, no one but her father cared.

This summer, however, was different. Alicia usually received letters detailing how much fun she was having, her exam grades, sarcastic remarks about her father, and inquiries as to when they could meet up. Alicia had received but one letter from her all summer, stating that due to her marks on the finals, she was grounded for the whole summer. There were no allegations against her father, no complaints, nothing characteristic of her except for the penmanship.

Alicia's correspondence from the author of the second letter had been limited as well.

When Katie Bell had first set foot in Gryffindor Tower during Alicia's second year, no one had seen much in her. She was small, introspective, and unlike the other first years at the time, quiet, modest and painfully shy. Night after night she had sat alone in the common room, poring over textbooks and scratching away with her quill. Each night Alicia had watched her, never guessing that she would next year be joined on the Gryffindor Quidditch team by the tiny, companionless blonde.

One evening, when Alicia could stand to watch her sit, friendless, no more, she had approached her, and they had been friends ever since. It had taken perhaps a day or two for Angelina to accept the first year, but they soon learned that she was not as introverted as she seemed, and they formed a trio that grew infamous as their talents emerged.

Katie had long ago developed a taste for writing and her letters were always long, flowing manuscripts full of eloquent vocabulary that conveyed multiple points with the greatest of ease. They were, in fact, rather unlike Katie. Though by no means quiet, she was fonder of quick, pointed remarks rather than grandiose speeches. Alicia's correspondence with her had been limited as well, and a short series of plaintive letters had explained everything.

Though Katie usually got along well with her family, a grievous conflict had been stirring over the course of the summer. Her family wanted to move to France as a means of being closer to her grandmother, and in doing so they also contrived to take her out of Hogwarts and enroll her in Beauxbatons for her last year of schooling. It wasn't like Katie to involve her self in a conflict, but she had been absolutely adamant that she wouldn't go. Should she move to France, it would be taking away everything that she had known, casting her into a world she had never known.

The letters had saved her sanity, reassuring her that the world was still turning, and that there was still someone there to love her in her father's stead. No friend could ever replace the paternal affection, but the epistles had reassured her of their undying companionship.

At first she had put the missives away, disregarding them as yet another reminder of what had passed, but each night she would revisit them. As sleep eluded her, she would pore over their words, reading what was hidden between the lines. Whether frustrating boredom or panicked despair, the deeper messages in what they said spoke to her, bolstering her confidence that come the start of classes, all would be well. However likely her words would prove to be false, it proved to be one of two silver linings to the storm cloud hovering above her.

She now sat in a flimsy plastic chair, shielded from the pouring rain by only a flimsy white canopy. All around her were huddled a mass of sniffling relations, all encased in a sheath of black, and wringing handkerchiefs in their hands.

Though surrounded by her relatives, she felt withdrawn from this place of insincerity, to a place where she could just be. Alone. She didn't want to see her family, she didn't want to be a part of all the fanfare, all the pomp and flourish. Such a panoply of remorse felt hypocritical and mendacious to the memory of her father.

Another tear dropped from her eye, but their outflow had been checked by the cease of tales of remembrance. Each story told tore at her heartstrings, ripping away her composure until there was nothing left but raw emotion. Every fond recollection was like another assault on her grieving heart.

Her eyes flicked downward to the shining leather of her shoes, and she could only imagine how sickly she must have looked. Her hair was starting to curl uncontrollably because of the moisture dripping from the roof of the tent, and her makeup had run down her face like an eerie brown waterfall. But it was more than that. So much more. She had noticed it as she was dressing earlier this morning, and the change in her facade had alarmed her exceedingly.

Her eyes, once sparkling with an odd sort of introspective enthusiasm, were haunted and hollow. Her cheeks no longer had a rosy tinge to them, and her customarily tan skin had begun to take on a yellow, sallow quality. Her general countenance had taken on a vacant and detached air, and she had not spoken to anyone for days.

Though the service was excruciating, the small reception at her home afterward was nearly unbearable. As various aunts, uncles and cousins began to crowd into the Spinnets' small row house, Alicia seized the opportunity and crept quietly to her room, locking the door behind her.

She sank onto her bed, consumed by fatigue and sorrow. She shut her eyes, the temporary darkness soothing the stinging sensation. She felt as though, in an instant, she could drop off to sleep and when she awoke in the morning, none of this would have happened. As she lay back, her dress robes billowing under her, she thought of him. His smiling face, painted into her memory like an eternal picture, a sacred canvas.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the isolated caverns of her mind, she thought she heard a tapping. She shook it off, but it came again, more persistent and louder. Opening her eyes, she sat slowly up, blinking in the harsh light of her room. Glancing around her room, she could find no disturbance, but the tapping continued. She walked over to the window, thinking perhaps it was the tapping of the rain upon the pane. However when she lifted the thin sheet of glass, the tapping continued. She turned away, falling onto her bed again. From somewhere behind her, there came a screech, and she whirled around to face a large, tawny barn owl with a letter tied carefully to its leg.

She picked up the letter, hardly daring to open what she held. It was addressed to _Ms. Alicia Marie Spinnet_, in the same emerald green ink that had been present on her first letter those six years ago. With trembling fingers, she ripped open the thick parchment envelope bearing the telltale insignia and began to read.

_Dear Ms. Spinnet,_

_I regret to inform you that must be taken from your summer holidays a month and a half early this year. You have been selected to represent not only Gryffindor House, but the entire school of Hogwarts in the Harper Classic. _

_The Harper Classic is a Quidditch Tournament held every seven years, designed to bring together eight of the finest schools of magic in the world. Three chasers from each school have been selected to compete in this tournament, and I assure you it is one of the most prestigious honors given at this school. _

_The Classic is a series three vs. three_ _matches in a single-elimination tournament. The field will be narrowed from eight teams to four teams, then from four teams to two teams, and finally only one victorious team will remain. The rules are the same as a regulation Quidditch match, but there are no snitch, no seeker, no keepers, and no beaters. Despite the lack of beaters, bludgers will still be present. _

_There is more to the Harper Classic than just Quidditch however, and a series of banquets and balls are among the festivities. It is recommended that you properly attire yourself for such occasions. A suggested list of clothing is included below. _

_Please remember that you are representing the entire institution of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and provide a positive representation at all times. _

_Each school you will be facing has a different set of chasers who have different strengths and different standards. I feel it incumbent upon myself to hint that many of these players come from schools where Quidditch is emphasized over schoolwork, and that Hogwarts has always been a long shot in the Classic. The staff members, however, have expressed confidence that this time will be different. I leave you with that._

_It is suggested that you bring the following for your one month stay;_

– _Up to three sets of dress robes_

– _Practice robes (you will be given your scarlet Hogwarts robes upon your arrival)_

– _Quidditch gloves and pads_

– _Broomstick_

– _Robes for every day wear_

– _Any necessary personal items_

_Yours truly,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

_A Portkey will be sent to your house at six p.m. tomorrow. Be ready to leave. _

Alicia's mouth dropped open. They had chosen her.

For the longest time, being selected to play in the Harper Classic had been only a faint possibility, a dream at the most. She had nearly forgotten about it in the wake of her father's death, but maybe the Classic was a way out of all of this. A chance to begin again. A chance to get away from all the false commiseration, and the half-hearted sympathies. This was her chance to do something for herself. Her one last shot at happiness.


	2. The Beveled Door

1The letter was as good as its word, and at exactly six p.m. the next night, another tawny barn owl sailed through the open window, dropping a dirty beer can across Alicia's bed.

"Oh, Alicia, are you sure about this?" her mother said with an air of false concern.

Alicia just stared at her for a moment, before nodding in a disbelieving manner. She had wanted this ever since it was announced to the chasers just before the end of the Triwizard Tournament. She couldn't explain it, but something about the Harper Classic had drawn her in since Professor McGonagall had first announced the honor.

She turned away from her mother, searching her room for any forgotten possessions. She moved to her desk, picking up the tiny gold picture frame that lay there. As she ran her fingers over the ornate design, her eyes fixed on the picture encased within. As her mind traced over the grinning features of her father, his arms wrapped around her own shoulders, she felt a slight smile spread across her lips for the first time in a week. The movement of the muscles felt so wrong, so foreign, so forgotten. She tucked the tiny picture into the pocket of her navy robes, squeezing its cold metal into her warm palm before turning to her mother again.

"That's everything," Alicia declared as she fastened her cloak around her shoulders. "I should go." Her mother stepped forward and overtook her in a tentative embrace, though a distinct lack of emotion could be felt in her mother's feigned distress. She seized the handle of her trunk, and with a last curt nod she wrapped her fingers around the can and disappeared.

The first thing she felt were water droplets pounding against her face, followed shortly afterward by her feet landing in the soft, sodden mud.

Alicia blinked and looked around, soon discovering that her surroundings provided a feast for the eyes.

Though not long past six, the absence of both sun and moon in the cloudy sky supplied almost no light, so much so that it appeared to be nearly dark where she stood. Rain was pouring down upon her in sheets, each crystalline drop eerily lit by frequent flashes of lightning. To her right was a large brick wall with wrought iron gates dotting its sheer surface every two hundred feet, and on her left was a great leafy forest. Barely visible over the paling loomed a magnificent castle, and it was in this edifice that the scene's greatest splendor could be found.

The castle was massive, a great, complex building full of towers and windows. It was, to Alicia's eyes, bigger than Hogwarts and a thousand times more beautiful. Instead of the cold gray stone she had grown accustomed to, it was comprised nearly entirely of white marble. Their were intricate carvings at every corner, and each of the giant windows emitted a warm golden light. The various roofs seemed to be made of gold themselves, and from the tip of every tower flew a deep purple flag.

The grounds were exquisitely kept, emerald lawns sloping away from the palace in every direction. Lush groves of orange trees speckled the wide expanse, punctuated by the grove of cherry trees that stood clustered next to a shimmering lake. Terraced Italian rose gardens adorned the gently rolling hills, though the flowers' delicate petals had closed to the pounding rain.

"Ms. Spinnet," a low voice said from behind her. Her heart gave a jump. She turned to face an ancient wizard, his long silver hair blowing slightly in the breeze. "Forgive me for startling you." He bowed, then drew his wand from inside his crimson robes. He flicked it once and her trunk disappeared, again and the beer can was gone.

"My name is Professor Gethin. Welcome to Heyer Academy for the Magical Arts. Your teammates are waiting for you in Walker Tower, and if you would please follow me, their wait will soon be over."

She nodded, her mouth falling open slightly as she did so. "And congratulations," he added as they stepped through one of the iron gates. "Being thus selected is truly the mark of a great Quidditch player." She thanked him as best as her overwhelmed brain would allow for the present.

From the gate, they had stepped into what seemed like a whole other world. It was like an oasis in the middle of a desert, a Garden of Eden in the midst of a dark forest. Professor Gethin chuckled slightly at her wonder, and they walked on.

They entered the castle through two enormous beveled doors into the most resplendent entrance hall Alicia could imagine. The walls were again white marble, golden torch brackets holding not flames, but lilies their only ornamentation. A diamond encrusted mosaic adorned the floor, while another dressed the ceiling. A massive chandelier housing thousands of tiny candles hung overhead, providing the light for the room, and directly in front of them stood a sweeping marble staircase.

It was this staircase that they climbed, then turned left before another set of enormous beveled doors. "That's the Great Hall," Gethin said, motioning to the doors. "I dare say its not as interesting as Hogwarts, what with that enchanted ceiling of yours, but you'll find it an agreeable place to dine."

They climbed another flight of stairs, passing through one opulent corridor after another, each dotted with a series of mahogany doors. Portraits hung on the walls, as in Hogwarts, and many bowed, curtseyed, or even called out a greeting as they passed by.

After what felt like ages, they reached yet another staircase. Though anything but narrow, it was not as wide as its predecessors, and it wound up into a tower in a loose spiral rather than a shallow, sweeping course. When at last they reached the top, another large mahogany door was upon them. This one, however, had been temporarily emblazoned with the Hogwarts insignia.

"The Banquet of Introduction will commence at eight," Gethin told Alicia. "Please be waiting with your teammates outside the Great Hall no later than seven-thirty." He made another bow, then departed.

Her teammates. In the excitement of the day and the baffling elegance of Heyer Academy, she had completely forgotten that there would be two other chasers joining her, and that she had no idea of who they were. For all she knew, there could be a Hufflepuff she was barely acquainted with on the other side of the door, or it could be two Slytherins waiting to mock her. It could be one of her best friends, or it could be Roger Davies, her bitter enemy. The other two chasers she was paired with could make or break the experience, and with more riding on it than just a trophy, she was scared.

She quietly pushed open the doors, unsure of who would be waiting there for her, but she found no one. Walking farther into the lavishly decorated room, she found it deserted. Three trunks and three brooms were lined up neatly next to three canopy beds, but there was no sign of anyone else. Looking around, she located her trunk at the foot of the middle bed, and assuming the bed to be hers, took off her cloak and sat down.

"Which one?" a voice demanded. "The white or the gold?"

"I don't know," another one replied.

"Must you always be so indecisive? Honestly, it's a wonder you can even decide whether to get out of bed each morning," the first voice said accusingly.

"You'll just wear whichever you want to, so there's not a hell of a lot point in me making a suggestion," the latter retorted.

Alicia got up and looked around, wondering where on earth the voices were coming from. There were two doors set into the warm mahogany paneling across the room, and both were closed. She slipped off her shoes and made her way across the room, the lush burgundy carpet massaging her tired feet. Choosing a door, she pulled it open to reveal an elegant bathroom, and it was in this that two girls sat, one holding up two sets of dress robes, the other brushing her long, blonde hair.

As soon as she opened the door both heads turned to look at her, and soon smiles were spread over all three sets of lips. The girls in the bathroom were none other than Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson.

"Alicia!" Angelina exclaimed with an air of relief. "Oh, god, it's so good to see you! I'm so sorry. I would have written more, but my dad took away my bloody owl!" She stepped forward and embraced Alicia in a bear-hug Mr. Spinnet would have been proud of. "How was the funeral?" she asked in a low voice.

"Ridiculous," Alicia replied in a near whisper. "It hardly seemed like anyone cared. Like they were all just there so no one could accuse them of being indifferent. Like I was the only one who really felt for him." She felt tears well up in her eyes. "The only one who really suffered a loss."

Katie stood and hugged her as well. "Sometimes," she began, "I feel like I'm losing my father. Since my grandmother got sick, he's never paid me much attention. It's always about her, and I understand what he's going through. When he said we were probably moving to France, I just knew. I knew that once again he was putting her before me. I feel like all my reasoning has fallen on deaf ears. And it frightens me."

Angelina let Alicia go and sat on the edge of the porcelain bathtub. "That's the whole reason I'm here," Angelina sighed. "My father's dead to me in so many ways, that I just can't see him anymore. I'm grounded for the whole summer. I haven't been out of my house. He'll blow every capillary in his body if he finds out I'm here playing Quidditch instead of doing community service with my aunt, but maybe it'll help him see for once. See the real me, not just who he wants me to be."

Then there was silence. A silence awful enough to make each person present regret Angelina had mentioned the funeral at all. None dared to believe what had come out of their mouths in the first five minutes of their reunion, but each felt the burning truth behind what they had said. Things they hd never told to anyone, never dared to let slip from the seclusion of their own minds had been revealed in a quick, rash attempt at consolation.

"I guess this is why we're friends," Katie said bitterly.

"Come off it," Angelina sighed, putting a hand on Katie's shoulder, "We've been friends since before any of this shit started happening to us. I know that I can't speak for either of you, but it seems like this tournament has come at the perfect time. Like a blessing, you know? Maybe it's a sign that we all need to step back and exmine our lives, maybe start over."

The other two nodded their agreement. "Though I don't think you can reasonably call it a sign so much as a fortunate coincidence," Alicia replied softly, wiping a tear from her eye.

Katie managed a weak smile, but said nothing and resumed brushing her hair. Angelina slipped out of the room, letting the gold dress robes from her right hand fall to the floor. She returned a minute later, attired in a set of flowing white dress robes, the light from the candelabras adorning the walls causing the alabaster silk to shine like a many faceted jewel.

"I'm still disappointed you're not going to wear those violent orange ones you got last year," Katie sighed.

"Shut up. That was a one time thing. The lady said the color looked good with my skin tone, and I didn't realize until after I bought them that they made me look like a pumpkin on steroids," Angelina protested.

"At least you didn't wear them to the Yule Ball. That could have been a disaster of epic proportions," Alicia said kindly.

"Yeah, and I also didn't spend my whole Yule Ball sitting alone, depressed that my darling Ollie no longer attended Hogwarts," Angelina said with a laugh.

Katie colored slightly, her red face providing quite a contrast to her dirty blonde hair. "On the other hand, I wasn't trying to put someone's eye out with my dancing," she retorted.

It was Angelina's turn to flush, but just barely. "I was with Fred. What do you expect?" she mumbled.

"I though it was cute," Alicia said with a grin.

"I'm surprised you had the time to notice," Angelina responded. "I seem to recall that you spent the entire evening wrapped around George or cursing Roger and the Veela. I know I'm not supposed to utter that name until he condescends to admit he's an ass, but I must observe that you still spend quite a bit of time complaining about him."

Alicia glared at her, but checked her retort with an air of great superciliousness.

She turned and walked from the bathroom. The memory of what had happened between herself and Roger was still too painful to recall, too hard to talk about. He was fixed in her mind as the most degenerate, disgraceful person to ever set foot into Hogwarts, and he would stay that way unless he managed to redeem himself in the coming year.

She flipped open her trunk and began to rifle through the hastily packed belongings. Her hands searched through what seemed like miles of fabrics, Quidditch equipment, and personal belongings before finding what she was looking for. Picking up the set of bottle green dress robes that lay at the bottom of the massive pile, she ran their silky fabric through her fingers, thinking only of the last time she had worn such a garment. It was only yesterday, but it felt so distant now.

Angelina and Katie were still trading friendly verbal blows in the bathroom, phrases such as "Darling Ollie" and "Violent orange" could be heard through the closed door.

Alicia slipped into the dress robes and examined herself in the mirror. The sickly yellow tone her skin had possessed not one day ago was already becoming healthier. Her reunion with her friends had put a bit of sparkle back into her eyes, their playful banter making her ever more aware of what was going on around her. She ran the silky fabric through her fingers again, soft and inviting, comforting in her callused hands. Like the tissue. Like her father.

A door shut behind her, and she turned to see Katie emerge from the bathroom as well, her hair piled into a messy bun with tiny sparkling clips woven in every inch. She then disappeared into a second door, returning an instant later clad in soft baby blue robes.

"Are you ready?" Katie asked, looking at her watch.

Alicia nodded. "What is it exactly that we have to do at the banquet?" she asked nervously.

Katie shrugged, but was saved the trouble of replying as Angelina burst from the bathroom, her hair now a river of tiny braids. "It's wonderful!" she exclaimed, passing a mascara wand over her eyelashes. "All of the kids who regularly attend Heyer are here to watch, and they sit at two tables running the length of the room. Then, when the headmaster calls your school, you walk down the center aisle. He introduces you, one at a time, and then everyone claps and cheers and you sit down at the players' table in front of the high table! It's a perfectly old-fashioned, aristocratic way to be introduced! You're even supposed to give a little nod!"

While both were pondering how she knew this, Alicia was smiling at her teammates sheer excitement over the prospect of being introduced. Angelina's fancy of old-fashioned things had turned into a bit of an obsession the past year, and Alicia was certain should Angelina ever get her hands on a timeturner , she would be off to the Regency period and never seen again.

Katie glanced at her watch again before casting it onto her bedside table. "Shall we go?" she asked nervously. Katie was always known for being punctual to fault. The kind of person who arrives at a party exactly on time, when neither host nor hostess are ready because they're assuming everyone will arrive fashionably late.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "God, Katie--"

"No, she's right," Alicia interrupted. "We really should go."

"Fine," Angelina said with a scoff. "But I guaruntee you we'll be the only ones there. "

Angelina's words proved to be false, and as they arrived in front of the massive doors they found all seven groups of chasers huddled in close-knit circles, not looking at anyone but their own teammates.

The three Hogwarts representatives contrived to form a similar group and before long Professor Gethin slipped through the enormous doors. "Is everyone ready?" he asked coolly. There were a few slight nods, and he smiled slightly.

"Good, everyone please get in order by which you will be introduced. Could I have Heyer to the front, please?" Alicia watched as three tall, athletic boys in jet black dress robes formed a line. They were followed by three more boys, of more varying stature, from a school called Griffin. The next row consisted of three Italian boys, followed by a Spanish team made up of two boys and a girl. "Hogwarts here," Gethin instructed and the girls took their places as Pepperall, Beauxbatons and Bromfield lined up behind them.

A booming voice echoed inside the Great Hall, beckoning the home team forth. One by one the doors opened and closed to tumultuous applause as team by team was introduced. "Heyer! Griffin! Inammorata! Fortunanto!"

Then there was no one standing in front of Alicia. No one to hide behind any longer. From inside the Great Hall there came a shout. "Hogwarts!" People began cheering. And finally, slowly but surely, the doors swung open.


End file.
